


Memories of a day long forgotten

by Out_for_lunch



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Character Study, Dreams, Enderman Hybrid Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Evil Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Memory Loss, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo goes feral, Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), as a treat, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:02:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29039820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Out_for_lunch/pseuds/Out_for_lunch
Summary: Ranboo has bad memory, yes. But he still remembers. He remembers so so much, more than anyone expects from him. Mostly, his memories are faint, washed out, less than what he knows and experiences, but he has a few keepsake memories that he will keep with his life. And if these memories are to help him see the people around him in a different light then who is to stop him?
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Floris | Fundy & Ranboo, Niki | Nihachu & Ranboo, Ranboo & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 157





	Memories of a day long forgotten

Ranboo does not dream in technicolor. Sometimes, when he tosses and turns in restless sleep, he dreams in milky, washed-out hues, and his vision is all cataracts and frosted glass. Other days, however, everything is too bright, all neons and eye-searing shades of blinding light. The way he moves in dreams is off too, like he’s forever wading in honey or like he’s pacing down a conveyer belt. His arms are always too floaty or far too heavy, and his line of sight is always way zoomed back or close up like peering through a magnifying glass. His dreams are always wrong, slightly to the left versions of reality. 

Even when he wakes up, he can never quite shake the feeling that something is deeply wrong with what he is seeing, doing, thinking. But he is awake all the same, and he lives another day, just to be thrown back in his dream state at the end of the day. To be quite frank, it doesn’t matter how wrong he thinks his dreams are, how messed up he sees the world through that lens because, by mid-morning, he will have already forgotten about that deep sense of off-ness. He will not remember until the next day, and he will forget, and he will remember the next day.

Such is the life of this poor teen with poorer memory. Contrary to popular belief on the server, he _can_ remember things. He remembers the pale blue sky with whispers of light grey clouds; remembers the gentle smell of petrichor after a heavy rain on a day he can’t quite place, he remembers the feel of smooth, glassy material in his hand as he warps through space; remembers the soft, deep, monotone voice of his long-forgotten father; remembers the taste of hot blood pooling in his mouth. He remembers a lot, but so, so much is lost to the warm, deep, void of his forgotten, forever gone thoughts.

Some things are clearer than others. When you forget so much, you tend to focus on what you can remember, rather than what you can't. And some thoughts, he can see in his mind’s eye crystal clear. Like cleaning your glasses for the first time in a while, or staring at a 4k monitor in 1080p. But these memories are clipped, incomplete. Remembers the sky, but not what he was doing. Remembers the smell, but none of the vision to complete the memory. Remembers the voice of his father, but not what he looked like. Remembers the taste of his own blood, but not how it got there. A lot of his memory is like this.

He’s been remembering more and more things lately. He’s not quite sure if he likes them. Now, Ranboo might not be the best at retaining thoughts in that little noggin of his. He holds on to what he can with a death grip. Though blurry, muted, and quiet he can feel the roaring heat of fire brush pat his hands as he burns down a house with his friend (his only friend, his brain supplies.) The sight of said friend desperately and adamantly yell that he had nothing to do with it, that he was innocent and that they were the ones who committed the whole crime, and again he remembers that their name is Tommy. He can smell the rain, somehow sickening, cold, yet comforting and red hot at the same time. It burns his skin. He’s not sure if he hates it.

He looks upon these memories as if they aren’t his. He can't remember the context of these scenes, and so they feel distinctly not his. But they are. So he holds onto them. Holds onto faint, vague memories of Tommy and that impending figure that he thinks he should call dad and the smell of burning rain and the taste of hot blood. By lunchtime, he will already have forgotten this desperation and he will move on with his day. It’s any other day.

And Ranboo goes on with his day. He ambles about happily, through lands of deja vu and wooden buildings and soft lush grass coated in fresh snow. Talks with Tubbo, his mind supplies him, and they talk about a plot to kill the dream, and as they talk he is reminded softly by his brain about just enough details to talk with him about the festival and such, and Tubbo leaves with a happy look on his face. Ranboo smiles to himself, feeling proud. He’s not entirely sure why he should kill dream or why he’s even on this plot in the first place or what he’s doing, but it feels good being useful.

A few minutes later, all traces of this conversation is lost from him and he wanders again. Recently, he has been nagged, pricked by this feeling like there is something he desperately has to do, but for the life of his, he cannot remember what. He decides to spend a few minutes of his day thinking about this. What about this… thing, that he can’t quite remember is so important? What must he do? He plops down on a nearby bench and stares off into the horizon blankly.

He’s filing through what little memories he does have, racking through them trying to think of just what it is he’s missing.  
Blue skies. Petrichor. A glassy cold orb resting in his hand. A warm, comforting voice, a deep baritone. The taste of his blood. And all of a sudden, just as the sun is slightly above his line, his thoughts all come to a screeching halt and a name rises above his panic. Tommy, his mind screams, and a flood of memories flood from that milky void and he almost screams with his thoughts because fuck, Tommy, god, he left Tommy in exile. He was supposed to visit him, he was supposed to be there for him.

He shoots out of his seat in sheer panic and concern for Tommy because he has just enough context to know, and he knows that it’s all wrong. His first friend, he left him to rot, and he sprints. His mind is rushing past him, and he slowly, carefully, comes to a stop because why was he running again? He feels panicked like something is very wrong, but he cannot put his finger on why. His stomach rumbles. He glances up and sees a sign for a bakery, and glances back at his growling stomach. He gingerly places a hand on his head. Maybe this is why he was running? He carefully steps forward and enters the bakery.

It’s warm, and it smells like sweet pastries and fresh bread. It’s a nice respite from the biting cold of the air outside. He ventures in further. He’s greeted by a pretty girl with soft pink hair, and his mind cheerfully supplies her name.

“Uh, hello Niki?” The name is kindly and familiar on his tongue. Niki looks up and grins at him and he is flooded with a deep sense of comfort and warmth. It’s very nice here, he decides.

“Hello, Ranboo! The usual, I assume?” She has an accent, he notices. He has absolutely no idea what his usual is, but judging by the very delicious-looking pastries in the display window, he thinks that whatever it is, it can't be bad.

“ Er, yes? The usual, yes, that sounds good.” A pause. “Uhm, I’m not sure if I should be asking this but, Uhm.” He sort of trails off there, train of thought completely derailed. “N-nevermind. It’s fine. Yes, uh, the usual.”

“Alright then Ranboo, the usual. If you remember what you wanted to say, you can tell me, then?”

“Ah, yeah. Sounds good. Mhm.” Ranboo stands there, fidgeting with the edges of his suit jacket. And there’s something about the way Niki moves, a little sluggish, a little hesitant, a little shaky, and Ranboo can tell, even if he has no prior knowledge of what she acts like, that Niki is very, very tired. He picks at the skin around his fingers. Taps his toes a little. Chews the inside of his cheek.

“Ah, Uhm, you know Niki, I was wondering. Do you, I mean, uh, you,” He sighs. “Sorry, I just, I’m not very articulate, I guess. But I have a question? For you?” He smiles awkwardly at her, already regretting his entire life.

“Hmm? Yes, of course, what’s up?” Ranboo takes a deep breath.

“ It’s just, well, that you, god this is probably really rude, I noticed that you look really, tired today? N-not that I would know what you look like normally it just, no, I mean uh, I know what you look like, and you look very. Tired? More tired than you usually look, which I wouldn’t know, and god, I, uh, sorry?” A moment of hesitation, before he tacks on, “ Are you, uh feeling ok?” Niki takes a few moments to think about this, eyes closed in contemplation. Ranboo fiddles with his hands. She takes a deep, heavy sigh, and it sounds like her soul is meekly leaving her body as she does it.

“Hah, just, you know. I’m fine, don’t worry, but it’s been a long day. A long day. Ah, you don’t need to worry though! No worries at all ok? Your food is almost done.” There is a very clear waver in her voice and Ranboo makes a motion to say something but stops himself. A clock ticks awkwardly in the background. The tiredness in her voice is clear, but so is the fact that she doesn’t want to be pressed on this. At times like these, Ranboo is glad he has shit memory. When things get really awkward like this because the air between them feels thick, he can always just. Feign ignorance. Innocence. They always believe him. Not that he would know. He puts on a big, happy smile, and he puts on a mini-show.

“Ah, yes, sorry, but uh, what were we talking about? I, uh, I’m really sorry but.” He taps on his head gently with his index finger. “You know, my brain isn’t all too, er, good. At processing things. You, you know how it is, right?” and with that, near all the tension in the room is cut, and Ranboo lets out a sigh of relief. Niki does too.

“Nothing important Ranboo, nothing at all. Your food is almost done, I’m just toasting it, ok? You’re good.” Under her breath, just out of earshot, she whispers, “we’re both good.” Ranboo smiles at her, and he finds his tail sweep up, forward into his hands. He fiddles with the feathery end, as he watches her bag a few items for him. The smell of warm, fresh bread wafts through the bakery, the sound of a white paper bag rustling.

“Right, Ranboo, here you are! One small chocolate eclair, one raspberry crown, a toasted turkey and spinach sandwich, and a water bottle, as always.” Niki delicately pushes the white paper bag towards the edge of the counter, and Ranboo ambles over, tail swinging behind him.

“Ah thank you! Oh, yes, uh, how much does this cost?” he chews his lip. He hopes that he has enough money to pay for this. He really didn’t think this through. Niki gives him a warm, soft smile. She taps the counter a few times, humming in thought.

“Right. How about 14 coin? That’s a fair price, I think. You come here so often, I really wouldn’t mind giving you a discount.”

“A-are you sure? That sounds awfully cheap Niki. Oh! Uh, I’m not telling you how to run your business, I just, you sure?”

“Yes, Ranboo, I am very sure. Don’t worry! Don’t worry, you’re fine. 14 coin is perfect for you, alright?”

Ranboo nods and rustles through his bag for his wallet. He once again has no idea what any of those items are but they sound delicious and for only 14 coin? He’s not quite sure what he did today but it feels like a good day. He quickly hands Niki the payment, scoops up the white bag, which smells absolutely fantastic, and walks towards the door. He calls out a quick thank you before ducking under the door frame which is a touch too small for him. The bell on the door jingles faintly, and his tail swishes in excitement.

Looking around the area, he finds a lovely spot, a bench on a hill overlooking the rapidly setting sun, and he happily plops down on a bench for the second time that day and opens the paper bag. He may not know a lot of things, but he knows that he is very excited to see what he is eating for dinner. Inside the bag, there’s a water bottle, and three smaller bags, each holding their respective pastries.

He gingerly pulls out the water bottle first, so that the bag doesn’t get soggy, and rests it against his leg beside him. He then chooses one of the smaller bags at random. The one he pulls out is warm and smells savory. Tearing the parcel open revealed a toasty, hot sandwich. He looks at it in excitement. He hadn’t really realized how hungry he was until he was holding food in his hand. Before he can tear into the sandwich though, he winces as he feels something sting his leg.

He looks down and realizes what happened: the water bottle was cold, condensation formed, dew-soaked into his dress pants, his leg got wet, and water burns. He sighs a little and looks around nervously. Luckily, in the corner of his eye, he can see a person walking towards the little peninsula at his back. In the soft amber light of the sunset, he can see a pair of fuzzy, red ears sticking out of the black cap and a name slips out naturally from between his lips.

“Ah, uh, Fundy! Hello!” Fundy looks up from the pen and journal in his hands, and his eyes light up a bit when he sees Ranboo on the bench. The fox hybrid walks up to him, snapping the book in his hands shut.

“Hey man! What’s up? Did you need me for something?”

“Yes! Uh, you see, I just bought this, uh, bag of baked goods from Niki, yes?”

“Mhm?”

“And well, you see, I seem to have bought a bottle of water. And, well, uh, I can’t exactly, er, touch water, let alone drink it. I, ah, heh, forgot. And you happened to be the first person to walk by. So, I was sort of wondering if you would, uh, like a bottle of water?” Ranboo held out the frosty bottle of water with a gloved hand. Fundy, with all the enthusiasm of a happy puppy, gratefully took the bottle of water.

“Thanks dude! You know, actually, I was feeling pretty thirsty. This is great! Oh man, this is fantastic.” Fundy gently shoves the book into the messenger bag at his side and clips the pen onto his shit before uncorking the bottle and taking a swig. “You know,” he continues, “here I thought I was going to have to, like, walk all the way to the Targay to buy some water but here you are! You’re a lifesaver dude.”

“Oh! Then I’m very glad I could help.” Ranboo glances at the bag beside him, twists around to grab it, and shuffles in his seat a bit, holding the bag out to fundy.

“If, if you’d like, you can take one if you’d like. I think it might be, uh, too much for me to eat on my own anyway.” He waves the sandwich in his hand gently as he says this. Fundy looks surprised at this, and then a mixture of gratitude and concern sweep over his face.

“You sure dude? I mean, like, you don't have to. It’s your pastries. If you’re offering I'll take it, but you’re 100 percent sure?”

“Y-yes, I am very sure. You can just choose one. Here, uh, yeah just grab one.” Ranboo shifts the bag in his hand slightly, so that the bag is more open for fundy to grab one. Fundy looks at the bag looks at Ranboo, looks at the bag again, and shrugs before taking a parcel hesitantly. He tears the paper open, revealing a sort of doughnut with red jam spread on the center, and his eyes light up. All hesitation from before now lost, the fox hybrid happily takes a bite of the raspberry crown. 

“Ranboo, are you magic?” Fundy is still chewing as he’s saying this, spewing small crumbs everywhere. 

“Huh? I- uh, no? I don't think so at least. Can, can I ask why?”

“Man, I think you have to be at least a little magic. I mean like, what were the chances that you just so happened to give me water and my favorite dessert right when I was craving it? Magic, I tell you.”

“Oh, r-really? Well, I don't think my, uh, range of magic capabilities include, well, knowing exactly what you want to, like, eat. But, uhm, I’m glad? That you liked it. Yes, really glad.” Fundy takes another bite of the crown, chews for a moment, before swallowing.

“Ok, so, I kinda have to go now, I have duties and stuff that Tubbo assigned to me. But! Thank you very, very much for the water and the food Ranboo, it means a lot to me. No, seriously, don't look so constipated man, you’re all good.”

“Uh, right. Yes.” Fundy begins walking off, a happy pep in his step, and his tail swinging behind him. 

“I owe you one, dude! Thank you!” Fundy calls out behind him cheerfully. As Fundy waltzes off, Ranboo turns to the sandwich in his own hand, which has since cooled off just enough for him to eat. He takes a bite, and the taste of warm, juicy meat and spinach fills his mouth. He chews on it happily and eats the sandwich watching the sun go down. It’s nice like this, he thinks to himself. The amber glow of the sun slowly fades into deeper, cooler shades, and as he's licking chocolate glaze from the eclair off of his fingers, the sun has just barely faded into the horizon, the cool ambiance of night sweeping the fields.

He begins the short trek home, the route unknown yet hauntingly familiar. Ranboo couldn’t tell you the way back home, yet he finds himself there at the end of every day anyway. The click of the wooden path against his dress shoes registers faintly in his head. And he thinks of clicking clocks and rhythmic taps against wood, and his memories are swept from his head, forever blurry, forever muted and grey. 

He finds himself in front of a tall dark oak door, and he carefully twists the handle open. It creaks open softly, whispering, and Ranboo ducks under the frame and enters his house. And for some reason, he is exceptionally tired today, and he blearily blinks as he tries to recall what he did that day. Nothing pops up, but a sense of mute, quiet dread that seems to haunt him, that nags at his toes. He has no idea why. 

Shaking it off, he changes into more comfortable clothes and slips into his bed. And he is exhausted, but he cannot seem to put a finger on why. He yawns. Curls up on his side, mashing his face into his pillow. And as he's drifting off, falling into a fitful rest, his brain belatedly screams a name at him, but Ranboo, Ranboo is already gone, where he will dream of pale blue skies, acid rain, glassy orbs, a tenor voice, and ashy sweet blood. Ranboo does not dream in technicolor, but he will dream all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! this is my first published work in this fandom, so I hope you enjoy it! I personally have awful, awful memory loss and struggle with remembering a lot of things, so I wanted to take the time to explore Ranboo's character because I really enjoy his portrayal in the DSMP and I wanted to write something about it! I don't have a beta and I'm kinda really fucking tired rn so if there are any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes please let me know.


End file.
